


Fist Fighting a Sandstorm

by tabula_rasa



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabula_rasa/pseuds/tabula_rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands were now stained with the acts of his violence, but they hadn’t forgotten kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fist Fighting a Sandstorm

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this doesn't suck. I just finished season 2 a few hours ago and I am officially Frank x Karen trash.
> 
> Title comes from the Sia song I happened to be listening to when I finished this. Enjoy! (I hope.)
> 
> (Just a side note: didn't proofread, sorry for any errors/typos!)

Karen Page might be a fool.

Despite thinking that she had put certain things and people behind her, she found herself hoping that Frank Castle would push his way back into her life. She’d find herself thinking about him, despite everything he had done. She thought about him more than she’d care to admit.

So much so, that when she found him in her in her apartment late one night she wasn’t so shocked. He had been way off the grid since their last encounter, and she had thought maybe he was gone for good. But there were still rumors that The Punisher was out their, hiding in the shadows, searching out his next target.

And despite everything, there he was, lounging on her couch, waiting for her to come home. It took her a moment to realize that he was asleep, and that—that surprised her. She had never thought about Frank sleeping before, doing something so innately human. But that’s what he was. Human. If anyone should have realized that the most, it should have been her. 

Hours spent listening to how human he truly was, and the fact that he was asleep surprised her. He must have been waiting for her for a while.

She had gone out for drinks with Foggy, catching up with him after not seeing him for a little while, their lives following different paths since the end Nelson & Murdock. It had been great to see him, but when they had parted for the night, with alcohol now flowing through her veins she had been overwhelmed with a sadness she hadn’t known was there. So much had changed.

Frank had turned a lamp on in her apartment, and from its glow she could see he had a black eye and a fresh cut on his forehead that was clearly still bleeding. She smiled a little, realizing not everything was so different.

She shrugged off her coat and moved into the kitchen, grabbing a clean hand towel and wetting a corner of it in her sink before moving to the couch. She stood over Frank and carefully nudged his shoulder.

“Frank.”

He jolted awake, sitting up suddenly eyes scanning the room for any sign of an enemy that wasn’t there until his gaze landed on her face.

“What are you doing?” he asked. She laughed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she responded. She kneeled next to the couch and brought the towel up to his face. He moved back slightly until he realized what she was doing. Karen carefully began to clean the blood from his face. “What are you doing here Frank?”

His eyes didn’t leave her face, and she met his gaze briefly before returning her focus to the wound on his forehead, which she didn’t think would need any stitches.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, smiling cheekily for a just a second. “Thought I’d drop in.”

She brought the towel down from his face, grasped his chin with her free hand and tilted his head from side to side to check for any other cuts or bruises.

“I haven’t seen you for months,” she said, finally meeting his eyes for more than a quick glance. He looked away this time.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he responded.

“Yet here you are.” 

Karen stood and went back to the kitchen, threw the towel in the sink.

“You want something to drink?” she asked.

“Got any coffee?”

She couldn’t help it. She smiled.

“Yeah,” she answered. She went to her coffee pot, checked to make sure it was clean, hoped she still had some coffee filters. “You didn’t really answer my question. Why are you here?”

It was silent and she turned to see that Frank was standing now, looking at a picture on her bookshelf. He set it down and came to the kitchen, watched as she carefully measured the coffee grounds. She turned the machine on and turned around, leaning against the counter, resting her hands on either side of her on the counter.

“Well?”

“Would you believe it if I said I missed you?” he asked, watching her carefully. She couldn’t help it—she laughed.

“Bullshit,” she said.

“Bullshit’s your specialty,” he said. “Not mine.”

He came closer, still managing to tower over her despite her own height. He reached up, brushed her hair behind her ear, shrugged. She was surprised by his gentleness. It seemed like an action that belonged in his past, with his family. His hands were now stained with the acts of his violence, but they hadn’t forgotten kindness.

“You’re the only one who understands, Karen,” he finally said. “It gets lonely out there. And you think you’ll be fine, just keep doing what you’re doing. But there’s no real human connection and you start to wonder if you’re losing yourself. If you’re heading toward the edge of a cliff and there’s no turning back. “

His hand was on her cheek now, his other hand on top of hers on the counter. And he was close, a thin line of space between their bodies. The coffee pot was gurgling behind her.

“I started to realize,” he continued. “I realized that when I was with you, I felt almost like my old self again. Like things could get better. That this world couldn’t be so impossibly fucked up.”

His forehead was against hers now and she realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, shuddered.

“I just need to know that I’m still human,” he said. His breath mixed with hers, silent now except the sound of the city and the coffee brewing. Karen’s eyes met his, so incredibly close to hers. She shivered. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She felt him start to pull away, her hands moved quickly, grabbing at the jacket he was working. He stared at her questioningly. “But I’m not scared of you.”

He moved swiftly in a way she’d only witnessed during an act of violence. Their lips met roughly, teeth bumping as he pushed her back against the counter. Her lips parted and she gasped into his mouth at the impact, his tongue darting into her mouth as she pushed at his jacket. 

Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands gripped her hips, lifting her easily and setting her firmly on the edge of the counter. He moved between her legs, pulled her against him and both groaned at the contact.

Karen reached between them, working on undoing his pants. Once the zipper was down she used her feet to help pull them down, her hand reaching for his hardening cock. He buried his face in her neck, placed open-mouthed kisses there as she stroked him. His own hand found its way underneath the skirt of the dress she was wearing, fingers zeroing in on her center, finding her ready for him. 

He groaned against her skin, brought his lips to hers again, kissing her hungrily, pushing her skirt above her hips roughly. He backed away from her, watched her gasp for breath as he slid her underwear down her legs until they landed on the floor. 

Frank watched her for a moment. Took in the sight of this beautiful woman, panting, legs spread, waiting for him. 

“Frank.”

He moved back in, pulled her right to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their eyes connected as he slowly slid into her, her breath stuttering. He kissed her softly. In the last minute, what had started out as something chaotic and desperate had changed to something neither had experienced in a while—something simple and tender. It was unexpected, it was what they needed.

There movements were steady, eyes staring into eyes, breath mixing with breath, skin seeking out skin.

Karen’s hands found their way under Frank’s shirt, and when she came she cried out, nails digging into the skin of his back. Frank finished moments later, pressing his lips hard against hers, wanting to take her all in, savor every last second. 

When they had tidied themselves up, Frank helping Karen off the counter, and after their clothes had been straightened, Frank pulled Karen to him and kissed her softly again. He buried his face in her hair, felt some sense of normality he thought he had lost long ago, smiled despite everything.

“So, how about that coffee?” he asked. She laughed.


End file.
